


Shut Up And Dance With Me

by MarshmarrowSans



Series: Tumblr Requests [8]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mobtale, Body Worship, Demisexual Sans, Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Established Relationship, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, It was meant to be MT Sans but I left it a bit ambiguous on purpose, Or at least he's heavily implied to be haha, Pick ya favorite Sans I guess~, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink but not rly?, Reader has a vagina, Sans just loves complimenting you because he thinks you are gorgeous, Sub Sans, dom reader, i mean kinda, mafiatale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 22:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14090700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshmarrowSans/pseuds/MarshmarrowSans
Summary: Dancing and sex. Two things Sans loves to do with you for romance and fun despite the energy output they require.Why did it not occur to you sooner that he might enjoy a lap dance?





	Shut Up And Dance With Me

**Author's Note:**

> *sticks mleggy out real far* I'm back to the bonezone binches
> 
> You guys know the drill. College gets intense, writer drops off the radar for months. The good news is, it's paid off, since the three class grades I've received so far have all been A+s! ^^ I am really, really hoping that my next set of classes after Spring break isn't so time- and effort-intensive, but won't know for sure until they start.

There was no mistaking it: you were the dominant one in your relationship with Sans.  For all his acting like a tough guy around everybody else, he softened around you.  He was vulnerable around you, because you were the only person he felt like he could be vulnerable around.  Besides, why would he want to intimidate you?  Why would he want to act like he was the kind of guy to want to put you in your place?  You were his soulmate.  He loved you.  He wasn’t that kind of guy.  And if he had to be honest?  With your determination, you could probably kick his ass if, hypothetically, the both of you were going all-out.  He felt no shame in admitting that.

 

But then, why think of it in such violent terms?  The fact of the matter was that he was on the submissive side in bed, too.  He was no power bottom, either.  He was just a lazy bottom.  His ideal was to maximize his enjoyment and minimize his work, and yes, maybe that was a bit greedy of him, but you could be greedy, too.  You would pin him under your hips and take him whatever way felt best for you.  You both got off on it, so it all worked out.

 

But nothing is absolute.  As much as it may have seemed like it to him, your sexual confidence wasn’t without limit.  You got nervous sometimes, just like him.  You got shy.  Even with the knowledge that you were more experienced than him, you still always felt like you might embarrass yourself somehow whenever you tried something new.  You’d been worried he would laugh at you, playing at being brutal the first time you gave some criminal-cop bondage roleplay a shot (he didn’t).  Basically, the more of an act you had to put on—the more you had to perform for him—the more nervous you became.

 

In conclusion, you were about to surprise him with a lap dance and you’d never been so friggin’ nervous about engaging in a sex act with him in your life.

 

The outfit, you were comfortable with.  It was something Sans surprised you with on your last anniversary (along with some other, more romantic gifts, because he didn’t want to come across as _completely_ lewd): a sapphire blue babydoll that left little to the imagination.  He had a thing for seeing you in his colors.  Thus, you wore it often.  Sans’ consistent praise had all but eliminated any sort of self-consciousness over your body at this point.  He looked at you like a goddess.

 

The problem was the act, the performance, the _dance_.  You kind of knew how to slow dance, tango, or square dance, but this was completely different.  You had to find some intermediate between the slow, rhythmic movements of a dance, and…  just fucking him.  You could do each individually.  No problem.  But putting them together?  You hoped Sans wouldn’t judge you too harshly…

 

“baaabe.  how long are you gonna be in there?”

 

You smiled at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice, catching your own gaze in the bathroom mirror.  It calmed your nerves a little.  Don’t be silly, you told yourself.  He’ll love this.  He always does.  You already knew he was sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for you to come out and cuddle with him.

 

“i mean, i know it takes time and effort to look like a goddess on earth and all, but we’re just going to bed.  if you’re doing your hair or something, it’s just gonna turn into bedhead by the morning.”

 

“Hey, you’re right.”  You swung open the bathroom door to greet him, all dressed up and dropping your inhibitions all at once.  “We _are_ just going to bed.  But if I have my way, my hair is gonna be messy way before the morning.”

 

You saw his expression transition from calm amusement to startled awe.  He never had any clue when you were in a mood.  Your relationship was a series of pleasant surprises to him.  “whoa.  hello there.  is it hot in here or is it just you?”

 

“That’s getting old, Sans.  But I’ll take it.”  
  
”heheh.  i got something else for you to take—ooh, hello!”  You’d climbed on to his lap and pulled his arms around your waist.  His smile was even cuter from up close, not to mention you could make out the blue blush dusting his cheeks and the way his eye lights dilated at the sight of you.  “cutting to the chase, eh?”

 

“Not exactly.”  The thought appealed to you for sure, but you’d already planned on going for a lap dance and you weren’t about to back out now.  You could see his pupils dart to the side for a moment in confusion, then refocus on yours with an expression that said, hell, whatever you were about to do to him, he was going to love it.

 

“kay.  just tell me what i can do for ya’, boss.”

 

“Boss?” you echoed with a hint of disbelief.

 

“in here?  you betcha.”

 

You touched him idly, a small smile on your lips as your fingers traced over the shapes of his ribs, which had become so familiar to you by now that you could already picture them in your mind.  Alright, so the pressure was on.  He was depending on you to be confident.  In control of the situation.  To guide him.  To be his pillar.  It was a familiar role by now, but you had to face it.  Lap dances were difficult.  The ladies who did it professionally, god bless their souls, had some sort of training, because if not done correctly, you could see them so easily turning into something awkward and embarrassing for both of you.

 

Your cheeks and body flushed at the sensation of Sans’ hands gripping your thighs, even as your mind raced.  But what _was_ it that made a good lap dance?  Maybe it was confidence.  If you added that to your (admittedly minimal) experience in regular dancing, plus his love for you…  Yeah, that was probably your best bet.  As long as you were into it, he would be into it.  You would power through your lack of experience by acting like—no, _convincing_ yourself that you were a natural at this.  That nobody but you, his soulmate, could do this for him.  That your body, and his, would tell you everything you needed to know. 

 

You weren’t just going to pull this off.  You were going to be the only one who could.

 

You took Sans by surprise with your first kiss of the night.  He seemed to have been expecting it to be as slow and careful and light as the way you were touching each other.  Instead, you balled up his shirt in each of your fists and kissed him hard with your eyes squeezed shut.  He seemed to hold his breath for a moment, then sigh through his nasal cavity as he relaxed and reciprocated.  His eyes were closed, so he continued to take in every inch of you through sensation alone.  His hands reached your hips, lingered there for a moment as if uncertain, then reached around to your buttocks and gave them a curious squeeze.

 

That was the thing about Sans.  He liked to squeeze the parts of you that he liked, so that meant he played a whole lot of grab-ass, alongside grab-titty and the much more innocent pinch-cheek.

 

“Good,” you whispered to him.  You felt a shiver run through his bones.  You never failed to make him tremble with that soft, damn near musical voice of yours.  “Keep your hands there.”  


“oh, they’re not going anywhere, babe, believe me.”

  
…  Should you have put on some music for this?

 

No.  Focus.  You could pull this off without any cheesy music.  Only you.

 

Sans looked almost betrayed when you stood up from your comfortable perch on top of him.  He had to lean forward to keep his hands where they’d been, and the desperate look in his eyes told you he would do anything to keep you there with him.  You reassured him with another kiss, this one more gentle than the last, with your hands landing comfortingly on each humerus.

 

Poor guy.  Always scaring himself silly that you were going to leave him, in both your romantic and your sexual life.

 

Looking at him now, fresh out of a kiss, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused, his cheeks dusted blue…  You were certain you could never do that.

 

It was time to show that to him.

 

You were sure that your smile couldn’t help but come across as demure as your hands slid to his shoulders, then down his chest.  You focused wholly on the sensation of each broad, sturdy bone sliding across your fingertips—not the small, experimental swaying of your hips.  You were testing the waters.  Gauging his reaction.  Seeing if maybe you should stop while you were ahead, before you made a fool of yourself playing at being some sort of sex goddess when really all you had going for you was your love for him and a bit of basic, vanilla sex experience.

 

He didn’t seem to think so.  His eyes darted down to the center of your movements, then back up to your face.  He looked like a deer that was a little too excited to be caught in the headlights.  Almost as if _he_ was the one who didn’t know what to do, but sure as hell wanted to find out.  You answered him without him having to ask.

 

“Honey, you don’t have to worry about a thing but sitting on your ass and touching mine.”

 

“oh great.  those are two of the things i do best.”  He gave your butt another little squeeze for emphasis.

 

“Oh, shut up and let me do my thing.”

 

“i’m also good at—mmfh.”  You interrupted him by dropping your entire weight on to his lap and kissing him.  Whatever he’d been planning on saying, it was lost to the soft breath that wheezed through his nasal cavity and tickled your upper lip.  It was your natural impulse to still your movements except those involved in kissing him, but you kept up the slow, deliberate rhythm of your hips.  You were scooted as far forward on his lap as you could go, your thighs spread to each side of his stomach, so his growing erection grazed noticeably between the cheeks of your ass every time it became centered there.  Something between a purr and a growl—whatever it was, it was made in exhilarated approval—rumbled in his chest.  That helped to spur you on.  He was fixated on you right now, but you were fixated on him, and that was what kept you going when otherwise you might have felt too shy or embarrassed.  You focused on those soft sounds he made, the half-breaths, the sighs, the little chuckle you elicited from him when you broke away from your kiss with your hands on his shoulders and scooted back just enough to position his bulge against your entrance.  The friction between the two of you was incredible.  You couldn’t help yourself—you whined helplessly until you bit down on his clavicle to stifle yourself, faltered in your steady side-to-side motion, then switched to something you were much more accustomed to.  Forward-and-back.  A hundred memories of your previous encounters together rushed to your mind.  Your movements transformed momentarily from a dance to an act of desperation, but then, that made it all the more real.  All the more you.

 

Sans was remembering, too.  You could only imagine what was going through his mind to make him dig his fingers so desperately into the soft flesh of your ass.  He held on so tightly you could feel both the hum of his magic and the gentle trembling of his adrenaline-ridden body.  His eyes were unfocused, vaguely watching your body, but not really.  Taking in the information, but not directly fixating on it.  Watching your incredible human body, but not dwelling much on the specifics of it, only processing it in supplement to whatever else was going on in that funny little head of his.  You could only imagine.

 

“i love you.”

 

You could only imagine what that felt like for him—to feel love after a lifetime so lacking in it.

 

You smiled at him, and with uncharacteristic grace, you lifted your weight from his lap.  He loosened his grip on you, just a little, just enough to let his hands slip from your backside to your hips, but he still leaned forward to hold on to you so that you couldn’t move too far away from him.  He’d told you once that sometimes, he needed you so much it made his soul ache.  You could imagine this was one of those times.  You could imagine that it made his soul ache to glow so brightly for you.  It glowed brightly enough that you could see it through his shirt, between his ribs, shrouding itself in a halo of its own deep blue magic.  That was your next point of focus.  You lost yourself in that beautiful blue that made up his entire being, lost yourself in your own little world of him, and moved for him however felt right.  You didn’t let yourself doubt.  You didn’t let yourself think twice about anything.  It didn’t matter how you moved, as long as it was slow, and as long as it made you feel like the goddess he always told you that you were.

 

When you tore your eyes from his chest to glance back at his face, you could tell that something had changed since before.  He wasn’t just eager anymore.  He was _enraptured_.  You’d taken a risk, completely throwing your inhibitions to the wind like that, but it had paid off.  He was looking at you like he would never look away from you again.  You had his full attention now, more than anything ever had before, more than a hefty burger at the end of a day without food or far-away stars through a telescope.  You thought you’d seen him transfixed then, but that didn’t compare to this.  His pupils didn’t form heart shapes for any of that.  Only for this.  Only for you at your very, very best.

 

Your hands had been on him for awhile now.  You spent forever on the familiar shapes that made up his body.  From his phalanges to his shoulders, then his cheeks, which you just wanted to cup in your hands for hours while you gazed into his eyes.  From his clavicle to his ribs, over his soft belly which only ever seemed to be there when there was clothing there to cover it, and disappeared to reveal normal skeleton structure as soon as there wasn’t. 

 

You were still trying to figure that one out—Sans refused to explain it to you with any more clarity than wiggling his fingers emphatically and saying _magic_.

 

You touched every part of him that your hands could reach from your standing position while you could.  Because in the next moment, you removed your hands from him to focus on yourself.  No, you weren’t infatuated with the shape of you own body like you were with the shape of his.  But you put everything you had into acting like you did.  You treated your curves with the same utter awe and respect he always did, ghosted your hands over your breasts and all the way down to your hips, before sweeping your hair behind your head and turning in a half-circle so he could watch you from the back.  He couldn’t see the smirk on your face, but it was there as you explored your body with your hands again, but this time, from your breasts all the way down to your knees, before you roamed just far enough back upwards that you could rest your hands over where his still had a loose but stubborn grip on your hips.

 

You heard him whisper “ _shit_ ,” which always meant you had him at a loss for words, followed by a breath sucked in through his teeth when you very deliberately leaned your weight back against him, backside-first.  He held you up for a moment, then let out a little “oh” and let you settle back down on his lap when he realized that was what you wanted.

 

You teased him for his fumbling with nothing more than an affectionate, “Silly boy…” but stifled any response by reaching back and pulling his head towards the crook of your neck.  He obeyed—hell, he would obey anything you wanted right now—and gratefully nuzzled there while you moved against him.

 

“silly girl,” he retorted under his breath.  You quivered—you could feel the warmth of each syllable being pronounced against your skin.  “settling for a guy like me when you could have anyone you wanted.  _look_ at you.”  He slipped his hands between your thighs.  “beautiful.”  Phalanges as gentle and curious as if he hadn’t touched you intimately countless times before traced your wet folds through your lingerie.  “beautiful.  and oh, stars, can you put on a show.”  His arms wrapped around you.  It restricted your movement, but you didn’t care.  You let him embrace you and reached to cradle his skull against your shoulder.

 

“Sans…” you chided him, “Do you always have to be so self-deprecating while I’m trying to love you?”

 

You tried to look at him, but his eyes evaded yours.  


“…  dunno.  just what comes to mind every time i look at you and see how amazing you are.”

 

You held his cheek in your hand.  That got him to look at you.  He looked…  vulnerable.

 

“I love you.”

 

“i know.”  
  
  
”And you deserve it.  You deserve me.”

 

You didn’t get a response for that one.  Just a sigh.

 

“Sans.”  
  
”i don’t know.  but one day for sure.  before i die.  i’ll do _something_ to have deserved what i got.”  He folded his hands over your stomach and squeezed you against him like he’d never let you go.  “don’t look so sad.  you make me want to give a shit and do better.  when i look at you, and i see how amazing you are, besides just feeling like the luckiest guy on earth, i don’t feel sad at all, i feel…”

 

“Determined.”  You put your hands over his, finishing his sentence for him when he failed to find the word.

 

“yeah.  exactly.”  He kissed your neck.  “now quit your worrying, doll.  you’re becoming like my favorite plant.”

 

You giggled.  “Your favorite plant?  What, a butt-ercup?”

 

“really babe?  you think i’m that immature?  a worrywort.”

 

“Awwwh, heheheh!”  That was his favorite laugh.  That laugh you had just for his puns.  His soul lit up a little brighter every time he heard it.  “Well, you’re about to become like _my_ favorite plant.”

 

“mmm.”  He hummed thoughtfully, trying to suss out your joke before you actually made it.  “a corpse flower?”

 

“No.”  You turned your head to whisper seductively against the side of his skull.  “A squirting cucumber.”

 

He guffawed.  And it was usually an accomplishment just to get a genuine chuckle out of him.  You’d really swept him off his feet with that one.  His laughter didn’t stop, but mixed with a needy moan when you tried to shut him up by rubbing your thinly-clothed, waiting entrance over the glowing bulge in his pants.

 

“heheheh!  geez.  you are one immature little brat.”

 

“You know you love it.”

 

“you’re damn right i do.”  For the first time that night, he managed to knock you completely off your game.  You could handle the ache of arousal in your groin.  You could handle the coil of heat that had been building in you every time your oh-so-teasingly clothed bodies had rubbed together.  You could even handle it when Sans now moved the thin piece of fabric covering your genitals out of the way and tested your wetness with his fingers.  But it was always disarming when he paid special attention to your clit.  And he knew that.  That had to be why he was doing that now, signaling an end to your performance.  You sighed softly and melted under his touch, succumbing to your lust.

 

“gorgeous.  thanks for that, babe.  just feel that.”  He kept the fabric of your lingerie pushed to the side and grinded his pelvis up against your bare pussy.  You bit your lip to stop yourself from moaning shamelessly—he was practically inside you, he _would_ be if his pants weren’t still in the way, and you knew full well that rubbing against you like that was soaking the fabric there with your arousal.  “hard as a fuckin’ rock.  i can’t get up right now, but my dick’s giving you a standing ovation.”

 

Even through the haze of arousal, you rolled your eyes at him.  “Your dick stood up two minutes into the performance and started applauding.  And kept it up throughout the whole show.  And is still doing it now.”

 

“what an annoying prick.”  He grinned and raised his eyebrows at you.  


Neither his joke nor his expression probably would have made you burst out laughing on their own, but summed together, it was peak comedy.  His soft, deep laughter harmonized with yours, he wrapped his arms around your waist in a tight hug, and that was how the two of you stayed for a long, long moment.  You let him have that moment and release you whenever he was ready.  That took a good minute or two.  But the thought occurred to him that he needed his arms for something else.  He whispered, in a breathless tone suddenly lacking any jest but brimming with passion, for you to “get up and turn back around so i can look at that pretty face of yours, doll.”

 

You were met with his familiar, goofy grin when you did.  And with…  something else.  It seemed the moment you got up, he’d taken the opportunity to slip his pants down to his ankles.  Your eyes were immediately drawn to his prominent erection, especially the precum spread across its tip.  But then, it was always a rather eye-catching spectacle, so he was used to that.  “perfect.  you look great from behind.  don’t get me wrong.  you could be wearing a full-body suit of armor and still make a man cream his pants with an ass like that.”  He reached around and patted you on the butt encouragingly.  “ _butt_ i wanna be looking you in the eyes when i make you cum.”

 

“Awwwh.  That’s almost romantic, Sansy.”

 

“i love you.  boom.  now howsabout a grand finale?”

 

You weren’t about to deny him that.  You wanted it just as much as he did.  You wanted him so badly, you didn’t even want to spend the time removing his shirt, or your lingerie.  You just stretched the fabric to the side to make yourself available to him and let gravity do the work in pushing his length into yourself, until he hilted in you with a lewd groan.

 

The sensation of his girth sinking into you was like that of alcohol flowing down your throat.  Burning at first, then settling into a lingering warmth that seemed like it would never leave your skin.  Warm, satisfying, intoxicating.  Must have been his magic.

You and Sans were no strangers to each other’s bodies at this point.  Not by any stretch of the imagination.  Yet, every time it felt different.  This time, it was quick and impassioned.  After all, everything leading up to it had been slow, and careful, and romantic.  You both wanted the same thing now.  It was clear in the way the both of you had decided to only push your clothes out of the way instead of fully removing them, the way you were riding on his lap so enthusiastically he could feel that soft, human flesh of yours bouncing with a matching periodicity.  He loved it.  He loved all of it.  But your breasts bounced the most, so in his haste to lay his hands anywhere on you that seemed enticing, that was where they ended up.  He thumbed your nipples, then rubbed his palms over them with a much more intense focus and interest when he heard your mewl of approval.

 

He loved the way they hardened whenever he touched you.  He loved any change in your body that he could produce.  He loved the pink of your skin when you blushed, the sight of your clit protruding from under its hood in those moments before he closed his eyes to eat you out.  He loved your wet and the pounding of your heartbeat.  Some of the very first hints of his sexual attraction to you had been the way his soul flared when he thought of giving you feelings so intense, they changed your body on a level you couldn’t consciously change even if you wanted to.  What did they call that?  Your primal side?  Fuck it, he could hardly think right now.  You weren’t usually such a rough lover, but he didn’t mind.  You were doing what you did best in your sex life with him.

 

You were letting him hold you, more or less sit there, and be pleasured.  And in return, he was letting you take him as rough as you wanted it today.  That was your dynamic, that was why your little lap dance worked _so well_ , and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

 

Still, he didn’t realize how much this was going to make him want to thrust into you.  You were giving him your all, and for all his laziness, his mind was filled with thoughts of reciprocating.  For a few, wild minutes, he matched your rhythm.  He’d been panting since the moment you let him penetrate you, and by the time he started to lag behind your level of energy, his breaths were wheezing out his nasal cavity.  If you didn’t know him to have low stamina, if he didn’t hook his hands under your arms and pull you along with him, if he didn’t have the most ecstatic grin on his face, you may have been worried about him when he couldn’t seem to sit up anymore and fell to his back on the bed underneath you.  He grunted softly upon the impact, and there was a brief lull in your frenzied love-making, but you moved over him, braced yourself on the bed with your hands on each side of his head, and quickly recovered the pace.

 

He couldn’t keep his mind off the way your body moved when you fucked him like this, and it was all the more prominent when you loomed over him.  As always, he couldn’t possibly fathom what you saw in him—what you saw in _his_ body.  He was so fixed.  So unchanging.  He had no lips to kiss you back, no real soft parts to dig your fingers into.  You had _everything_.  Soft, warm, candy-sweet lips that kissed him like butterfly’s wings.  Big, colorful eyes.  An expressive face.  And your whole body was so soft, he could hardly believe how tough humans could be.

 

Stars, how he loved your body.  He couldn’t imagine having sex with you like this without seeing it.  Feverishly, he tried to move more of your lingerie out of the way.  He pulled the straps from your shoulders and unraveled it downwards from there, and when you didn’t stop him, he touched you like you’d been touching yourself earlier.  The thought of running his hands over where you had, touching you how you most wanted to be touched, drove him crazy.

 

It drove you crazy, too.  Especially when he wedged his left hand—his dominant hand, it should be noted—between your body and his to rub your clit.  He’d caught on quickly to how good that felt for you, and how to do it just right, so that he didn’t accidentally graze the part that was a little too sensitive for your liking.  He commonly stayed with you in bed in the morning, practicing his skill with his hands while you were both too sleepy to actually have sex, but awake enough for you to appreciate the opportunity of an orgasm to start off your day right.

 

You could’ve slowed down to make this last longer, but you didn’t.  You could’ve edged him until he begged you for release, but you didn’t.  You’d already played with him enough.  So you gave him everything he wanted without hesitation.

 

Sans came so suddenly he seemed to even surprise himself.  His cry of ecstasy and release was tinged with something between confusion and disbelief.  His feelings for you, the physical sensation of climaxing inside you, all while you looked at him like nobody else ever did, looked at him like you would be as helpless without him as he would be without you, everything at once all summed together into something he couldn’t even name.  Something he’d never known existed until he felt it with you.  He used to think love was bullshit and sex was ugly as hell, but you proved him wrong, oh, stars, did you prove him wrong, day after day after day, and whatever this feeling was, it was some culmination of genuine love and magnificent sex.  He repeated your name, over and over and over again, as if he were lost at the height of his pleasure and it was the only word he could remember.  He repeated it until tears sprang in the corners of his clenched-shut eye sockets.  It was only when he was coming down from it that he realized you’d been whispering praises to him the whole time.  The last thing he heard you say before you came, while he felt totally weightless in your arms, was that he was such a goofball and you loved him so much.

 

This part was no surprise or mystery to him.  The way you grabbed him like he couldn’t possibly be close enough to you, the almost tortured smile on your face, the moment your legs gave out and your weight collapsed on to his: that was all familiar and warm by now.  It was part of the reason he always came first—because his favorite part of sex was being in his own afterglow while lovingly watch you attain yours.  Being fully released and undistracted so he could hear every loving word that poured out your mouth for him.

 

Nothing made him happier than hearing you say that you loved him, and you always said it, whether by shouting it at the peak of your climax or whispering it right afterwards while your body was still tense and trembling.  This time, as he’d guessed it would be, it was the former.  He was glad you’d chosen to do this while the two of you had the place to yourself, because if you hadn’t, anyone in the house or even nearby it probably would have heard you.

 

You were both left gasping for air after that—even you, who was relatively fit compared to him.  The tight hug he’d been giving you loosened until he was gently, gently holding you in his arms.  He was so drop-dead exhausted, it took him a few seconds to remember to pull out of you and let his magic dissipate back into his body.  He wanted to turn you on your side and cuddle with you, but he stopped for a second where he was, smirk on his face, to watch some of his cum, mixed with yours, drip out of you and on to the bedsheets.

 

You followed his line of sight and realized what was making him look so damn proud of himself.  He loved shit like that.  “Heh…  smug bastard.”

 

He looked up at you, eyes filled with mirth.  
  
  
”you’re gonna clean the sheets tomorrow morning.”  
  
  
”What?  No, no no no.  That is YOUR mess, mister.”  
  
  
”how do ya figure?”  
  


“How do I figure?  It’s blue, dude.  That’s your ectoplasm right there.”  
  
  
”heyyy.  it’s got some of yours mixed in there too.”

 

You couldn’t help it.  Instead of ‘arguing’ back, you just giggled and flopped on your side.  He cuddled up to you gratefully, nuzzling his skull under your chin.  You thought briefly about how cute it was that he was shorter than you…

 

“i’m just joking with ya’.  my bed.  my sheets.  i’ll clean ‘em, princess.”

 

Sans offering to clean something so that you didn’t have to?  Now that was true love.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun facts: 15% of this was written in a lab building and the other 85% was written weeks later during a really, really long car trip


End file.
